Sonnet 564

Splayed on my shipwrecked life I loll and muse
Enthralled by spectral forms that rise and fall
As white capped crests upon the rolling blue,
Wind fetched by storms now tamed to tempered squalls.
How vast the ocean, minuscule the strand
Who by the mighty main is ever tried;
Upheaved in ire upon approach to land
Froth fisted fury, conquest yet denied.
Ah still they come to flail the mighty down
As if by constancy they should prevail
And wax in force that nereids there may drown,
Spawned so by distant tempests, borne by gales.
Perhaps they’ve won here after all this time…
And I should now commend my soul to brine.
© Loubert S. Suddaby. All Rights Reserved

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